


between two points

by bravepress



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, Drug Abuse, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of OCD, Mentions of PTSD, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravepress/pseuds/bravepress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if he shuts his eyes tight enough he might wake up back in bed at home.</p><p>maybe he won't wake up at all. he's not really bothered either way.</p><p> </p><p>or, louis meets harry at a residential treatment center.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between two points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greeneiepie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneiepie/gifts).



> requested, among a lot of other really excellent prompts: a mental hospital au.
> 
> please take note of the tags.

It’s raining when Louis gets to St. Luke’s, and he’s so tired.

 

 

He hopes without any real conviction that he’ll be able to find something good about this place.  The walls of the lobby are pale blue and covered in pictures of fields and flowers. Everyone speaks in a soothing sort of voice and really, Louis isn't sure how he’s going to last past the first day.

When he goes in for his initial nursing assessment, Louis thinks he’s been clever. There’s a safety razor folded up in the cuff of his jeans. The orderly gives him a sad smile when he finds it and tells Louis to go ahead and bring out any other contraband, so that there aren't consequences or lost privileges for it later. This is the last time for several days that Louis thinks of himself as anything at all. This is the type of place where you lose your sense of self, Louis decides. The grey cloud overtakes him.

The disturbingly cheerful orderly refers to the tiny shared room as Louis’ _new home_. She doesn't make any mention of a roommate, but Louis still lets out a relieved breath when he finds the room to be mostly empty, undecorated. Being here is hard enough. He’s not sure he knows how to share space with anyone as… _damaged_ as he is.

He sprawls out on the bed and buries his face in a pillow. If he shuts his eyes tight enough he might wake up back in bed at home.

Maybe he won’t wake up at all. He’s not really bothered either way.

  
  


Most of his first day is taken up by meetings with his new psychiatry team. They’re uncomfortably supportive; they’d like to put him on a lot of medication. He’s going to receive a lot of therapy.

Louis sort of wishes Stan hadn't found him.

Then again, he’s really glad that it wasn't his mum or one of the girls that did. He tries to count his blessings.

 

 

Late in the day, Louis finds a boy in his room. He sees a lot of curls, and very sharp elbows. The boy lays down across from him. He stares a lot, and Louis can’t really bring himself to care. The grey fog swimming around in his head won’t let him register much else.

“-rry, good to meet you-”

Louis realizes he’s started to drift again, and the new boy is speaking for the first time since he walked in the room. He manages to open his mouth and force the words out. “Sorry. What?”

That wins him a very small smile. “I’m Harry. I think you’re probably Louis? It’s nice to meet you.”

Louis tunes back out.

  
  
  


They don’t talk much. They’re in the same day group, but Louis isn't really up for speaking and Harry doesn't talk much either.

He learns a little more over the next few days:

 

The boy’s name is Harry.

He’s young.

He’s very quiet, and very sweet (Louis likes this).

He tells terrible jokes, even when Louis doesn't say anything back.

He has nightmares (Louis doesn't like this quite as much).

  
  
  


Once Harry starts talking to him, they stay up late to trade stories. Harry has trouble sleeping- other than the nightmares, his body hurts all the time (he has a constant row of bruises on his spine, dripping down like jewels). He dreams-

well.

He doesn't like to talk about it, but sometimes he wakes up screaming. Louis lulls him back to sleep, mumbling about his sisters and his friend Stan (he doesn't say that Stan was the one who found him, and that they haven’t spoken since).

 

When he does talk about it, after a harder night:

“I don’t really miss Nick,” says Harry. “I mean, yeah, I do. But not constantly. Sometimes I think I see him in the hallways, and it sort of makes my chest ache.”

  
  


 

Niall grins at Louis from across the table. He’s a ray of sunshine in this sea of confusion, and Louis is still a little confused as to why he’s here. He figures it’s best not to ask, though. He doesn't want to talk about his own problems, and it wouldn't be fair to ask Niall about his.

Niall’s eyes go blank and dead, though, when anyone comes too close to him, so he and Harry and Harry’s friend Liam sit on the other side of the table from him. Louis loses himself in the sound of Harry and Niall laughing. It’s sort of nice.

It takes a week for Louis to work up to talking in group therapy. All he can manage is to introduce himself before he goes quiet again, but that’s something.

  
  
  
  


He decides he likes Liam almost as much as he likes Harry. Liam isn't in the same group as them; he’s dealing with things that require more intensive therapy. He’s surprisingly forthcoming about it when Louis finally brings himself to ask.

“The disorder was always there,” Liam says over dinner. Louis is trying not to watch the way Harry picks at his meal. He’s already pushed his glass of milk to the side of the table, where it will remain untouched for the rest of dinner. “You could think of it like a gun. The bullet was already loaded, the counting and obsessive thoughts and rituals. It was the thing that happened- the fire- that pulled the trigger and made it more serious.”

Louis weighs the gun metaphor in his head and finds it to be pretty apt.

  
  
  


Harry curls up on the edge of the opposite bed. He acts a little like an underfed cat. “We have bathroom checks, sometimes. Sorry for that, it’s- it won’t be your fault, I think. I’m usually the one who messes it up.”

“That’s okay,” says Louis. It’s hard to talk in here. The dayroom is oppressively loud, but at least it masks the sounds of personal conversation. In their room, Louis’ voice rings. Every word stands at attention.

“It isn't. Just tell me when you get sick of it, alright?” Harry sounds dead set on the fact that this is going to happen. Louis isn't going to ask, yet. It sounds like too much work. Someday, maybe.

His thoughts get slow and syrupy when he’s like this.

“Rachel’s alright,” says Harry, after a while. “She’s Niall’s favorite, anyway. That means a lot.”

If he could just figure out how to get his razor back, he could make his brain speed up again. He wants to be able to keep up with Harry. He wants to not feel like this.

  
  
  
  


Louis ekes out Harry’s story in bits and pieces, because it’s not like he has anything better to do. He goes to therapy. He takes his medicine. He eats when he’s supposed to. He talks to Harry.

He talks to Harry.

 

 

Harry has an i.v. in the back of his hand today, but he doesn't seem particularly concerned about it. There’s a nurse sitting in the corner of the room, but she’s reading a newspaper and only looks up to nod a quick hello to Louis. Harry’s not a self harm risk, so he supposes that makes sense.

“Dehydrated, I guess,” he says slowly. He’s lying on Louis’ bed. “Can’t leave the room until it comes out.”

“Oh,” says Louis. Sometimes he forgets how bad off Harry is. “I guess I’ll stay, then?” It’s not like he has anything better to do, and if he leaves for the dayroom he might run into Perrie or the other Harry or Liam or any of a dozen other people he doesn't want to talk to right now.

Harry smiles lazily, teeth and eyes and cheeks too sharp under the bright overhead light.

  
  


The i.v. only stays in for a few hours, but Harry gets a quiet reprimand from the nurse about taking better care of himself. Louis pretends not to hear- he’s got his own shit to deal with; he doesn't need to bother taking on Harry’s as well.

  
  
  


Here is what Louis learns:

Nick was Harry’s roommate. Substance abuse. Suicide attempt. He graduated from the program with honors. Made it six weeks, then-

This is the part Harry doesn't like to talk about.

The verdict is still out on whether it was suicide or simply a car accident.

  
  
  
  


Louis relapses.

 

Of course he does. As he’s in the clinic getting bandaged up, he starts to wonder if there’s even a chance that this will stop happening. Maybe one day he’ll wake up without this grey cloud. Maybe one day he’ll wake up happy and go to sleep happy and have the kind of day other people call normal.

His mind drifts. He’s back in his room again.

“I need to change,” Harry says. “Can you turn around?”

Louis shrugs and tries to come back to his sense, a little, but he doesn't really do much at all. He shifts around on the bed to get the pressure off the bandages on his thighs,. Watching Harry change is painfully fascinating.

Every part of his body sticks out. It’s pretty, aesthetically. Logically Louis knows that Harry is fucked. He’s in pain all the time, and this body reflects that, but still. He sees the line of Harry’s spine and wants to _touch_.

  
  
  
  


“So who’s Fizzy?”

Louis shakes his head.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. It just, like. It helps sometimes.”

Harry’s hips bones dig into the skin of Louis’ back. He doesn't flinch away. He doesn't want to upset Harry. It’s just kind of scary, sometimes, how sharp his edges get.

Louis is pretty sure he’s not progressing very well.

“She’s my sister,” he says. _Was my sister._ “I dunno. I just miss her a lot.”

  
  
  
  


As his medications start to work, it gets easier to talk. He starts to sleep through the night, instead of only catching two or three hours at a time. He finds that he actually enjoys having meals with Liam, who brings out a side to his personality that had long been dormant. Sarcasm slips back into his conversations. It makes him feel like he might someday be okay again.

  
  
  


They watch Groundhog Day in the dayroom. Niall sits on the ground between Zayn’s legs. He doesn’t like to be on the sofa.

The therapist turns the television off. She looks around the room, smiling. “I think we can all agree that we can’t expect things to change unless we change our behaviors.”

Harry snorts.

“Is there anything you’d like to add, Harry?”

“Harry gives a lot of good advice,” says a perky voice from the back of the room. Louis turns around to see a girl with shockingly purple hair holding the talking stick. He still can’t believe they have a talking stick, christ. “But I don’t think he really tries that hard, himself.”

Niall glances over at Louis and Harry, looking worried.

“Like he says he’s trying,” she rushes. It seems like she’s trying to get it out before the monitor stops her. “But he’s still losing. It’s so obvious.”

  
  


Harry, a little shockingly, isn't fazed by the comment. He shrugs it off. He’s got bigger things to worry about- specifically, a meeting with his doctors to discuss whether or not his current weight requires that he be hospitalized.

 

Louis doesn’t fare so well.

 

Looking back, it’s the fact that other people have any thoughts on him at all. If they form opinions about Harry (the way he acts, the way he looks, the way he is), then isn’t it safe to say they’ll do the same to him? Louis wants to disappear. It looks like St. Luke’s isn't the place for that to happen after all.

He feels a little dizzy when he watches Harry walk off to his appointment, but he stumbles back to their room and manages to close the door before he really starts to feel like he can’t breathe.

This has never happened to him before. He’s seen it once or twice with his mum, after the twins’ dad left and after Fizzy, but he’s never felt this crushing panic.

Niall and Liam are in the room before he realizes anyone has even knocked. Right, he thinks fuzzily. He’s probably late for dinner. They’ll have come looking for him.

He may or may not get sick on Niall’s shirt. It’s all sort of a blur, and he can’t _breathe_ and he’s crying and as fond as he’s become of Niall and Liam he really doesn't want them seeing him like this. But Niall, perfect as ever, waits until Louis has nodded okay before he takes Louis’ hands.

“It’s alright, Louis. It’s me an’ Liam, we’re right here with you.”

Niall gets his hand on his stomach and prompts him to feel himself breathing. He’s okay. Sort of. He’s alive, anyway. His heart is beating. The world hasn't ended.

 

They've seen him weak and the world hasn't ended.

 

  
  


Louis is half asleep by the time Harry gets back. He’s still shivering in little bursts. The door creaks open. Light streaks across the room.

Harry slides into bed next to Louis and pulls him into a tight hug. He’s probably talked to the boys, then.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m okay, just.” Louis buries his face against the side of Harry’s neck. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

As it turns out, kissing Harry is a pretty good way to get Louis to calm down.

  
  
  


None of them get visitors with any frequency. It’s partly a function of the program- they’re removed from normal day-to-day life, and that means being away from friends and family.

Louis is pretty sure it’s also just because no one wants to visit them, but he doesn't say that out loud.

So when Zayn shows up, it’s a cause for a lot of excitement.

  
  


“I can’t believe he didn't tell us,” Harry whispers. They’re trying to look inconspicuous, sat on the couch in the dayroom. Liam and Zayn are still wrapped up in each other, Zayn’s lips against Liam's forehead.

Louis can. He thinks he understands it, wanting to keep something so good to himself. It’s the same reason that he’s glad Harry doesn't touch any of the other boys the same way he touches Louis.

Zayn is allowed to stay for a few hours, and Liam finally breaks away from him for long enough to introduce him to everyone. He’s sweet, and he’s gentle with Harry in a way that surprises Louis. Zayn ribs him about the floral duvet and then pulls out a teddy bear, a gift for Liam from one of Zayn’s sisters.

It’s nice to watch them together. Louis wonders if anyone would have been understanding enough to stay with him even throughout all this, but then he thinks of Harry and something in his chest suddenly feels lighter.

  
  
  
  
  


Harry leans around the doorframe, watching Louis with wide eyes. Louis is horribly, infuriatingly bored.  There’s nothing to do but want to not be alive anymore, and that’s not a productive train of thought because he doesn't have a way to make it happen.

“You’re alright, though?”

Louis grimaces, tries to pull himself out of his thoughts. He’ll be okay.

“Cos, it’s, um. It’s Niall, I think he’s hurting. Liam’s got him, but he wanted me to come get you.”

Louis unravels himself from his duvet (floral, a tearful goodbye gift from Lottie), taking Harry’s hand in his own. He doesn’t react when Harry brushes soft fingertips across the bandages, to see that he’s alright. “I’m sorry I didn't see when you were upset,” says Harry. “I should've been there.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says. He gives Harry’s hand a squeeze. They’d all been breaking apart, lately. It wasn't anyone’s fault.

 

 

By the time they make it to Niall’s room, Liam has him on his side. He’s curled in on himself, eyes barely slitted open. Liam’s saying something quietly, soothing nonsense words. He smiles over at Louis and Harry when he sees them.

“He’s okay. He got a little sick, but I think he just needs to sleep it off.”

Louis cuddles up against Niall’s side where he’s lying on the bed and gives him a moment to adjust. Once he’s a little less tense, he says “You’re doing so well, Nialler.”

Niall relaxes into the praise, of course, and Louis almost doesn’t register the tiny shift in the sheets and the weightless pressure against his side. He turns to look at Harry, whose eyes have gone wide. They look like they might pop out, Louis thinks, and shakes his head.

“Should we get a nurse?” says Harry. Louis frowns at how cracked his voice sounds. He can imagine the conversation they’re going to have when this small crisis has passed.

 

_“You’re puking again.”_

_Harry will nod, half-chastised and mostly angry because it isn’t Louis’ fucking business, is it? But Louis will card his fingers through Harry’s hair, and that always calms him down. And sometimes he’ll find Harry bent over the sink, and sometimes Harry will find him ripping apart his skin with whatever sharp thing he can find. But Louis will say “I’m always proud of you, Haz,” or Harry will say “Let me clean you up,” and they’ll go back to normal._

_Whatever normal is._

 

Liam shakes his head. “He’s supposed to sleep it off. The nurse already brought something for the muscle ache.”

Niall makes a small, unhappy noise, and Louis backs off. It’s probably the way they’re all so close to him, the way they keep touching him lightly. It’s impossible to understand the twists his mind takes when he gets scared. His hands are shaking, just barely. “I need to get up,” he mumbles. “Just, um. Give me a second, I just need to-”

“D’ you want me to go with you?” asks Harry.

Niall shakes his head. “I’m fine. Sorry, I’m fine. I just need a minute, lads.”

  
  
  
  


They find time alone, tucked into corners. In Louis’ bed in the morning before nursing assessments. Before they go off to group together. Even then, they sit on the sofa next to each other, bumping knees.

Louis finds that he really does like the feel of Harry’s body next to his, the way he bleeds warmth into Harry’s skin. He likes the way Harry kisses. He’s never kissed a boy before.

He’s not sure he’d want to kiss any other boy, really. Harry might be it for him.

  
  
  
  


The flowers on the duvet keep him awake at night. He thinks about Lottie and Fizzy and the twins. It smells like home so he keeps it close. The flowers are as bright as they were (as he used to be).

  
  
  


“I miss him,” Harry sobs. “I miss him so much.” He’s hunched over the edge of the bed, digging his fingernails into the skin of his upper arms.

Louis rubs his back. There isn't anything for him to say- he didn't know Harry in the context of _Harry and Nick_. He didn't know Nick at all, other than what he’d heard from the boys (and from Harry in his sleep).

“What did you love the most about him?” Louis asks. It’s probably not what he should be asking, but it’s what he always wants people to ask him about Fizzy, instead of the usual _how are you feeling_ or _she’s in a better place now_.

Harry’s about to draw blood, so Louis takes one of his hands and thumbs over the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to- sorry. You don’t need to answer. I know it’s a big question.”

“He’d always sit with me,” says Harry slowly. “Like, when we were at lunch. And sometimes Niall would give me shit about eating, cos he was worried, but Nick never would.  Or if he did it’d make me laugh, it’d make it easier. It was easier, with him.”

It’s easy to see that he’s right. Harry’s body looks like violence. It hurts to look at him.

“He loved me, I think. He’s the only person who ever really did.”

“We love you too, y’know. Me and Niall and Zayn and Liam. Mostly me, because I’m the most important,” says Louis, perhaps a little too imperiously. Maybe the meds are doing their job. He can speak imperiously again. Mostly, though, he thinks _I love you, please love me back._

But Harry’s shaking his head. “It’s different, though. Like. He could actually make me do the stuff I didn’t want to do? The- the food stuff, and everything. It was just easier.”

  
  
  
  
  


His thoughts of Harry begin to include slips of sense memory- Harry’s teeth on his shoulder, the feel of sweat-slick skin under his hands, the way Harry bites his lip right before he comes.

  
  
  
  
  


Louis’ doctor adjusts his medication again and in the days it takes for the new meds to kick in, he stops talking. He can tell that it scares Harry, and he spends a lot of time sitting up against Louis with his (thin thin thin) thighs bracketing Louis’ legs, holding his face and kissing him and acting like he isn't upset. It’s harder now that Harry knows how much he’s struggling, now that he really understands what a huge step back Louis has taken.

  
  
  
  


“Rach said they’re going to tube me,” blurts Harry. “If I don’t start finishing meals, I just. I can’t.”

“Okay,” says Louis. There’ll be no convincing Harry to actually eat more, even though they can all see how desperately he needs to. “You’ll be alright, Haz. You know I can’t go with you but I’ll be here when you get back, I swear-”

  
  
  
  


They all curl around him on the bed when he gets back from the clinic. Harry tucks himself up against Louis’ chest and lets Niall and Liam stroke his back.

“We love you, did you know?” whispers Louis. Harry shrugs and burrows in closer. He keeps reaching up to scratch at the bandage on his face. The ridge of plastic tubing is visible underneath, and Louis makes a promise to himself that he won’t let Harry near any mirrors until it comes out. “I love you so much. You’re going to be okay, Haz.” It’s the first time he’s really said as much, and he’s not sure Harry hears it.

  
  
  
  
  


Harry presses his face into the pillow and screams until all that’s left are hoarse sobs.

“Hey, come on, babes, you’re fine,” Louis croons. “I've got you. You’re fine.”

Harry scrubs at his face, and his nails catch on the bandage. He jerks backward with a choked sob and (finally) lets Louis hold his hands still.

“It’s just to keep you alive. You can’t get better without it, right now.”

“I don’t- I don’t know if I want to.” Harry wipes his eyes, and squeezes Louis’ hand apologetically. “I hate this so much.”

The room goes quiet, except for the hum of the pump.

“Can you just tell me a story, or something,” says Harry. No matter how hard Louis tries to keep him still or comfortable, he looks like he’s about to crawl out of his skin. “I’m going crazy, please.”

“My sister died a year ago today,” says Louis. His voice goes flat again, exactly the way he hates. “So I’m trying not to wish I’d gone with her.” _And it helps to hang onto you like this_ , he thinks.

Harry’s still for a moment. He wipes his eyes again. “That’s a really awful story, Lou.”’

  
  
  


 

He makes sure not to touch Harry’s stomach, or the line of plastic taped to his face and tucked behind his ear. It’s not connected now, and Harry is clinging to his shoulders, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Louis’.

“So good, c’mon   _fuck yes_ right there-”

They’re probably not supposed to be doing this. Harry’s on some version of bed rest, but no matter what the circumstances are they keep winding up in each others’ beds. Harry’s so tight around him, Louis can hardly think straight.

Louis gets a hand around him and finishes Harry off, sucking a row of bruises along the line of his shoulder. His shirt will cover it tomorrow. The nurses never mind those, whether they understand what the bruises mean or whether they think it’s just a symptom of his eating disorder, along with every other purple spot on his arms and legs.

  
  
  
  


Harry and Louis do well enough in group that they’re allowed an outing. Harry says he wants to go to the movies. It’s on the list, so it’ll most likely be approved. Louis doesn't say anything.

They’re trying new meds again, since the antidepressants have stopped working again. The new ones aren't working so well.

He goes, though, when Harry chooses a silly sounding title at random (he’s almost sure it’s a children’s film, but it’s not like he’s going to deny Harry a night out). Louis gets himself _up_ enough to help pick out Harry’s clothes, since Harry tends to get upset and pluck at anything that clings to his skin.

It’s good, though, that some of his shirts have started to fit a little less loosely. They talk about it in the dark, wrapped up in blankets, Harry’s head on Louis’ chest. It’s terrifying for Harry, even though he knows it has to happen.

They both freeze up at the concessions counter. For Louis, there are too many choices and what if he picks wrong and he just can’t really deal with this. For Harry, it’s difficult to tell what is and isn't safe. They make it to the theater as the lights are dimming for the first previews.

  
  
  


  
“He’s doing a lot better since you got here.”

It’s soft enough that Louis almost doesn't hear it over the clink of silverware against plates. When he looks up, Niall has gone quiet again, slicing his chicken into neat, increasingly small pieces.

  
  
  
  


Harry finally breaks through the plateau he’s been on for the last month. He genuinely wants to get better, he says, He wants to get back to the real world. The meetings with his therapist and mum are going well.

He wants to stop hating himself, even if it takes a lot of hard work to get there.

Louis isn't sure he’s ever been more proud of anyone than he is of Harry. He’s been making a lot of progress, himself. No serious urges to self-harm, no suicidal ideation. _Except for a few relapses_ , says his doctor, _you've been a model patient. Well done, Louis._

__  
  


When they kiss, it’s languid and slow. No matter how many times they do this, it always makes Louis feel like his skin is on too tight. He holds onto Harry like he might break if Louis lets go.

“I love you,” Louis says finally, once he’s sucked Harry off. He goes slowly, until Harry pulls his hair and begs Louis to _please let him come, oh god_.  They’re already cleaned up, Harry relaxed against his chest.

“I know,” says Harry. Later, softer- “I love you too.”

  
  
  


 

Harry is released before Louis.

That’s sort of a lie, though, because he doesn’t properly graduate from the residential program. His insurance runs out. He’ll no longer be covered, so his family can no longer afford the treatment he’s been receiving. All things considered, Harry takes it pretty well. He’s given a week’s notice, and he doesn’t relapse before he goes.

They’re going to be okay. They have to be, even though Louis will be stuck here for another six weeks.

  
  
  


Louis helps him pack his suitcase at the end of the week. There isn’t much for him to bring home; they never did get around to decorating the room.

  
  
  


“I don’t want to leave you,” Harry says. He’s pushing down against Louis’ lap, hot and tight and perfect around him. There’s a lot Louis will miss about him over the next few weeks, but this is a big one. “I’m scared of not being with you.”

  
  
  
  
  


It ends like this:

 

Things get a little hectic when Louis finally gets out of the program. Not in a bad way- not at all. But he’s constantly around his sisters, and he’s applying to a local university for theater, and everything is moving really quickly.

Even after he gets out, he doesn't get to see Harry for another two weeks, which is almost physically painful. Over the phone, Harry laughs (and it’s so good to hear him happy, especially when it doesn't sound faked) and tells him that it’s okay, that he’s been busy as well. He’s trying to get caught up with school, and his advisor says he might be able to graduate early. He’s always been smart.

Louis doesn't doubt it for a second.

  
  
  


They meet up at a coffee shop in Manchester, and it takes Louis’ breath away when he spots Harry at a corner table.

He’s not fixed. He’s not suddenly healthy, even after two months of hard work. His wrists are still a little too thin, collarbones a little too shadowed, and Louis can see that he’s still taking his coffee black.

But he looks _good_. He’s smiling. Louis bites back something that feels like a sob and surges up to kiss him.

Harry’s shaking when he pulls away.

  
  
  
  


It’s just strange, to know so much about this boy. Louis is intimately familiar with his dimples, with the way he likes to be kissed, with how kind he is even when he’s hurting.

  
  
  


“I love you so much, oh my god.” Louis can’t stop touching him. Six weeks is too long. He’s not sure how he’s going to manage to go for extended period of time without this, now that he has it back.

“I know,” says Harry, laughing. He kisses Louis again, soft, the way he used to when Louis was having trouble talking. “I love you too.”

 

 

 

They’ll make it through.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i have feelings about this genre. let's ignore the obvious inaccuracies regarding how residential treatment works, because i'm not from the uk and i have minimal experience with it in the states.


End file.
